And spoketh Dirtbag unto me upon the hour of 6 in the evening, before the arrival of the other hashers “if thou pen it, it shall be so!” And as such, henceforth, and otherwise as a result of, it is with great pleasure that I introduce myself, Little Wang Theory (MD,PhD,Esq) as the official hash scribe of 2015. And in the great words of William Shakespeare (I got a spear you can shake…giggity), “all the world’s a stage and if I say it, it happened.”

So there we were - Dirtbag and I, before you wankers showed up. The transformation had not yet occurred. He was not spanking random women and speaking humpback whale into Moan’s tits. At a soft 6:69, or whenever you people decided your “jobs” weren’t important enough to miss hashing, some people started turning up. Conversation highlights included the following: The fact that Jizzney would bang the entire offensive line of the Green Bay Packers, and that Hymen would allow it if she got to bang Jordy Nelson. Also I learned that she banged a state trooper named Nordy Jelson, but he still gives her speeding tickets. We also tried to extract out of Boxer her status on learning to wipe lefty. Stay tuned for developments on that front (or back). We also learned that in the face of great adversity, Moans chooses a nice layer of sheep’s wool against her skin – and also that if you’re out in Saratoga on a night of the week ending in “Y”, she’s probably out too, hanging with some subset of her thousand friends. We also learned that Assman can’t tell time, and that the reason Piggy is so passionate about Deflategate is because his unicorn horn was a bit flaccid.

Then, for some reason, we decided to leave the comfy bar and literally freeze our nuts off. On the night where we probably needed it most, we forewent the warmup song. Father Birmingham[1] is slowly losing his hard-on in the confessional – the organ will sound a bit flat this Sunday. Trail included multiple calls of “WE GOT ICE” and “CAAAR”, and “is that a mark? No, just snow…” In the words of the great Yogi Berra (in reference to the attempt to use red flour) “in theory, practice is better than theory.” And when we got to the snow angle check, or whatever the fuck that was, Boxer decided that because she was basically useless in all other facets of life, that she would make a decapitated snow angel. Leave it to the chick who can fly shit to make a model of something that won’t fly. Beer check succeeded in proving to us that most of our kennel was in fact born in the 1800s because they spent their time playing with the rubber tube and the stick like some Ichabod Crane bullshit instead of learning how to play a damn kazoo. And then Ass2Stache taught us that they work by using a membrane to amplify the reverberation of your larynx and I came a little bit because I like physics.

The 2nd half of trail involved my nuts going from almond-size to full-on raisinettes. And then Dirtbag, as Dirtbag does, decided to “drop the hammer” (as they say in cycling), and stop caring about the rest of us and run straight for the bar, while we all did this thing called “hashing” where we ran a “trail”. No clue why we would do that…

Something occurs to me as I write this: it makes perfect sense that Dirtbag is such a racist (so confirmed by the fact that he bragged about is 3rd straight FRB like a 6th grader who just grew his first pube). It’s just a massive inferiority complex that comes from being…not so massive (in height and in hair quantity). Though his cranium is quite hard, as I know personally and am very proud to have experienced. Jk D-bag. Love you.

Not sure who was DAL because I was busy warming my nuts on somebody’s chin.

Circle was awesome for two main reasons: Moans’ nips, and the fact that we sang Colt 45. I’m impressed that Jizzney, who I feel like would know more Conway Twitty than Afroman, would know as many lyrics as the play who live in da hood (myself). Also, the gospel according to LWT states “Y’all mu’fuckkas need Jesus.” – how did none of you know “Juicy” by Biggie Smalls? It’s like…the anthem of the east coast struggle. Ugh. Plebeians.

Anyway, I drank because I warmed my hands on my nuts, Moans drank because her nipples almost poked my eyes out, people that both did and didn’t go to Free Beer drank, people who don’t know how to properly wear their hash gear drank, but the scandal of the day went to Jizzney and Hymen (what else is new). Apparently Jizzney couldn’t get Hymen off. So Hymen had to attempt to get herself off and broke her vibrator. There was a lot of finger pointing and name calling. I am not a fan of this. Sexual problems are for the affected to state, and for the rest of the hash to solve. Don’t play the blame game – both of y’all step ya game up. Can’t get your girl off? Call the hash ‘n’ tag out – no shame. Can’t get yourself off? Ditch the vibrating peanut and get yourself one of those big fuckoff baseball bat things that’s powered by a car battery – again, no shame in that either.

At the end of the day, what’s important is that Sperm Bank and I are going to work on the Oscar Meyers Awards ceremony. An event where we’ll rent out a banquet hall (or somebody’s living room), drink classy champagne (or something that comes in a plastic bottle), and give out Hollywood-style awards for hashing stuff. As such, keep track of all the epic shit that will happen in 2015 and remember that it’s always lonely being a pioneers.

So that’s all for now. And always remember kids, if I didn’t write it, it didn’t happen, and if ya didn’t make the hash trash…well it’s probably for the best.